I had a tattoo on my bum 13 years ago - and I've regretted it ever since

By JESSICA CALLAN

Last updated at 13:52 13 March 2008

Tattoos are big business. With stars dripping in them, they're no longer just for criminals and salty old sea dogs.

But with permanent "body art" there comes a catch - a big one, depending on the size of your tattoo.

If you change your mind about it, fall out of love with that Tibetan symbol or split up with a lover whose name you had etched into your epidermis, suddenly that tattoo will look rather ridiculous.

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Permanent embarassment: Jessica Callan regrets her decision to have her bum tattooed

Tattoo regret is the unfortunate side-effect of body art, with around 50 per cent of people who have undergone the needle having second thoughts.

Alan Jenkins, a steelworker, recently revealed that he had undergone 20 hours at his local tattoo parlour and spent £870 on having a life-sized portrait of his girlfriend's face etched into his back.

However, soon after, Lisa Crooks left him for a colleague.

But despite the pain and humiliation of both the tattoo and being dumped, Alan is refusing to have it removed by laser - the most popular method of erasing tattoos.

"It will be there for good," he says. "I've got some room on my chest if I get hooked up with someone again."

Has he not learnt his lesson? I certainly have after having two tattoos, both of which I now dislike to the point of acute embarrassment.

Thirteen years ago, when I was in my first year at university, I decided that I fancied a tattoo.

But unlike my female friends who had more feminine tattoos such as flowers, a seahorse, rainbows and a ridiculous-looking Winnie the Pooh figure, I wanted to be different.

So I went for a spider.

To this day, I have no clue how I reached that decision, nor any understanding why it seemed like a good idea.

I didn't think about it for long. A week later, I went to the tattoo store in the basement of the now-defunct Kensington Market, dropped my jeans, lay face down on the table and told the tattooist to do his best on my bottom.

I attempted to show the 3in black tattoo to my horrified mother, who refused to look at it.

My father approved of it, but said: "You should have told me you were having it done - I would have lent you my signet ring so you could have had the family crest done instead."

Apart from this not being the reaction I had expected from my father, it struck me what a good idea that would have been.

Our family crest is a griffin: the half-lion, half-eagle mythological creature.

Again, not exactly girlie, but it had more meaning than my spider.

And so started my feelings of regret. Why hadn't I thought this through properly?

Luckily, as it was on my behind, I wasn't reminded of my mistake on a daily basis.

I'd had it done low down on my right cheek, so when I wore a bikini it was visible.

I endured 11 years of jokes every time I was in a swimsuit from people trying to swat my spider.

I considered removal but felt that, as I had known full well that tattoos are permanent, it would be my punishment for being too impulsive.

Most of the time I forgot it was there.

But in January 2006, while travelling in New Zealand, I decided to get my spider tattoo covered up with another one. This time I knew what I wanted.

I printed off a picture of a griffin from the net, found a tattoo shop and booked myself in for an £80 session the next day.

The tattooist showed me the transfer he had done of the picture. It was huge.

"To keep all this wonderful detail in the wings, it has be this size," he said.

"But it's as big as the palm of my hand! It'll take up a fair chunk of my bottom!" I pointed out. He shrugged and told me to keep it big.

So I went for it. This time it was much more painful and took more than an hour.

The outline felt as if the tattooist was using a razor blade on me. When he was finished, he took a photo for his book, then led me to a full-length mirror to show me his handiwork.

I realised, with horror, that the griffin looked like something out of Harry Potter.

By the time I returned to London, I had talked myself around and decided that I loved my new tattoo.

I duly showed it to my father, only to discover that it was the wrong sort of griffin.

Tattoo regret is, sadly, very common. But it could soon be a thing of the past.

Doctors in Boston have come up with a permanent, but removable ink that harnesses the micro-encapsulation technology already used in drug delivery and scratch-and-sniff perfume.

It uses a system of polymers and dyes so that in the event of tattoo regret, lasers can burst the polymer beads and the ink will degrade.

But I'm stuck with a tattoo that makes me look like a walking ad for the old Midland Bank.

I looked into laser removal, but because of the size of my tattoo, it would be expensive as I'd need up to ten sessions, and the effectiveness of the removal can't be guaranteed, so I'd rather not take the risk.

For the time being, I am left with an even bigger tattoo I don't want.

My boyfriend delights in telling me how much I will embarrass future grandchildren with the grotesque tattoo on what will one day be my wrinkly backside.

But it could be worse, I suppose. I could be left with a portrait of an ex.